


Castle of Glass

by supernoodle



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Major Character Injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-24
Updated: 2018-10-24
Packaged: 2019-08-06 23:34:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16397216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/supernoodle/pseuds/supernoodle
Summary: Noctis tells his father about Carbuncle, about their adventures and how soft her fur is and how she uses too many exclamation points when she gets really excited. Carbuncle makes him happy, and sharing his time with her makes him happy, and making his dad laugh makes him happy.He doesn't tell his father about the other presence in his dreams.





	Castle of Glass

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from the Linkin Park song of the same name

Noctis tells his father about Carbuncle, about their adventures and how soft her fur is and how she uses too many exclamation points when she gets really excited. Carbuncle makes him happy, and sharing his time with her makes him happy, and making his dad laugh makes him happy.

He doesn't tell his father about the other presence in his dreams.

He says his name is Prompto, and sometimes he looks like a boy Noct's age, sometimes he looks older and kinda chubby, sometimes like a man in the Crownsguard or an adventurer with a camera or a tough old hunter.

Sometimes his eyes are red and he moves like a puppet being jerked around by someone who doesn't know what they're doing, face so still and flat it looks like a mask, cracked and leaking black tears.

But no matter what he looks like, Noctis is never afraid.

He's bright and laughs a lot and loves chocobos and shoots like a master with a gun or a camera. He tells stories about an adventure, about fighting monsters and making friends and conquering the wilderness with wit and quick thinking. Sometimes his words get all swimmy and dim and Noct can't hear him, and on those days they play games of sneak and pounce and hand jacks, and Noct can hear his shouting and laughter just fine.

Noctis doesn't tell anyone about him. He doesn't even think about it. 

Under that brightness is something so deep and aching that sometimes Noct is afraid it will swallow his friend whole. On the days Prompto can barely muster a smile, Noct crawls into his lap and tells him stories instead, about his tutors or the festivals or the stories his dad tells him, when he has time.

Prompto doesn't like the ones about the Astrals, for some reason, but he loves the ones about the old heroes, kings and Shields and Crownsguard.

After the daemon attack –

Noctis has nightmares after the daemon attack like he never has before.

But then he wakes up, shaking and crying and with pain greater than he's ever felt before stabbing through his back like glass shards, and there are warm arms around him and fingers running through his hair.

He's awake, he knows he's awake and almost wishes he wasn't, but Prompto is lying on the bed next to him, voice a quiet and steady drone and as solid as he is in the dreams.

His father comes rushing in a second later and the hand on his head vanishes just before dad's replaces it.

The ring on his father's finger burns.

~~~

He thought he imagined it. Maybe he'd been half-awake still, asleep enough for Prompto to reach him but aware enough to see his surroundings.

The nightmares keep coming, until he hates going to sleep as much as he hates being awake. His back always hurts, a knot of molten agony that roars to life when he moves and throbs when he doesn't. Carbuncle tries, tries wrapping him up in her dream-space as soon as he falls asleep, but the memories always twist and shatter their way in like they're daemons themselves. He halfway forgets the first time he woke up, Prompto's warmth and comfort.

But when he's awake, he catches glimpses.

Glimpses of blond hair or bare shoulders or a Crownsguard coat behind the doctors, in the corner, across the room, at the corner of his eye. Movement where there's nothing when he turns his head. The echo of a smooth, warm voice in silence.

Then he starts physical therapy, and there's a hand on his shoulder as he struggles with the bars, whispered encouragement when he falls, a whoop just out of hearing and a hand ruffling his hair when he completes a milestone.

And one morning, he wakes up and Prompto is there.

He's in his oldest form, face starting to line and hair tied back, wearing a shirt more patches than whole cloth and jeans in the same state. Usually he has an equally patched coat and boots and ratty pack, two guns and all the things he needs to live on the road, but right now he's not wearing any of them. He isn't even looking at Noctis at first, sitting cross-legged on the bed, chin on his hand and staring out the window.

Maybe he sees something or maybe Noctis makes a noise without meaning to, but he looks down the next moment and sees Noctis staring.

He smiles, but it looks mostly sad.

“I'm sorry I couldn't keep you from this,” he says, voice barely a whisper but heavy with pain. “I'm sorry this wasn't something I could change.”

Noctis blinks at him, sitting there solid enough to wrinkle the covers, smelling like dust and old sweat and saying he could change things. Carbuncle had never appeared outside his dreams, no matter how much he had wished he could show his dad or have someone to keep him company when dad was busy and he was left with stuffy tutors or distant nurses. Up until now, he'd assumed Prompto was the same, a creature of dreams that only he would ever see.

He wants to ask, about what makes Prompto different, about why he'd only appear now, maybe where he'd been as Carbuncle tried to keep the nightmares at bay, but Prompto's shoulders are heavy they way they are on bad nights, when Noctis would curl up in his lap and tell his own stories and sometimes coax out a smile, sometimes not.

Noctis tries to get up and do just that, but his back sparks with pain and it flips him from concern to fury.

It isn't fair that they're both hurting, that things changed so fast and even the things that stay the same are bad now, all because of one night and a daemon.

It's a hot and heavy feeling in his chest, choking, and then he's crying.

Prompto makes a startled noise and then his hands slide under Noct's back, flat and warm and gentle, and shift him slowly until Prompto is lying flat and Noct is lying on top of him, head on Prompto's chest and Prompto's fingers gently running through his hair.

He cries for a while, until his lungs and throat ache and his eyes are hot and itchy and he can't breathe through his nose. 

When he quiets, Prompto's heartbeat is steady under his ear, and he can hear the creak and whoosh of his breathing along with the rise and fall of his chest. His cheek is stiff from tears, pressed against a lumpy seam and rough cloth. Everything is quiet, the pain in his back subsided as much as it ever does and the churning of all the emotions he can't name in his chest and head finally stilled. Everything is warm.

Prompto sighs, the movement lifting and then dropping Noct's head and shoulders.

“I'm here now,” he says. Maybe it's quiet, but to Noct pressed over his heart it's half sound and half vibration, stirring him from semi-awareness like ripples in a still pond.

“I'm here,” Prompto repeats, “and I'm going to fix everything.”

It's enough for Noct to slip into dreamless sleep.


End file.
